


Losing the Light

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Prom, School Dances, Unsupportive Parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-04-10 09:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4386071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m heading out now, Mom,” Oliver told her as he went into the kitchen. “I’m picking up Wes and then Asher but you guys can come over to the Walshes around four, if you want. That’s when the other parents are coming over for pictures.”</p>
<p>“Where are you going, honey?” she asked, looking up from the pot she was stirring.</p>
<p>“Prom, Mom.” Oliver tried not to snap at her but it was hard. She knew exactly where he was going. She knew what was happening tonight, how important it was. “I’m taking Connor to prom, remember?”</p>
<p>“Oh,” was all she said before she turned back to her cooking.</p>
<p>+ </p>
<p>A Coliver hs!au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Losing the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Originally Posted on Tumblr

As much as Oliver tried to not get his hopes up and keep his expectations in check, he still gets nervous waiting in the Walshes dinning room, with his face all but pressed up against the window, watching for the familiar blue of his family’s mini-van to pull up the drive.

He’d told his parents the time they were all gathering for pictures at Connor’s house three times and had even tried one final time to get his mom to change her mind as he was heading out the door.

“I’m heading out now, Mom,” Oliver had told her as he went into the kitchen to grab the boutineer for Connor out of the fridge. “I’m picking up Wes and then Asher but you guys can come over to the Walshes around four, if you want. That’s when the other parents are coming over for pictures.”

“Where are you going, honey?” she'd asked, looking up from the pot she was stirring.

“Prom, Mom.” Oliver tried not to snap at her but it was hard. She knew exactly where he was going. She’d watched him walk in this morning carrying a garment bag after he’d picked up his tux. She had to have seen the small box from the florist in the fridge as she prepped dinner. She knew what was happening tonight, how important it was. “I’m taking Connor to prom, remember?”

“Oh,” was all she said before she turned back to her cooking.

Looking at her back as she stirred a pot that didn’t need stirring, Oliver was tempted to grab that abandoned coffee mug off the kitchen table and let it fall down to shatter against the floor, lift up chair to throw it through the picture window behind them, reach over to knock over the microwave cart, anything at all to draw her attention and force her to _look_ at him.

She hadn’t looked at him in weeks. Neither of his parents had. Not since the three of them had sat down around that table in this very room and he’d explained that he and Connor weren’t _just friends_ and hadn’t been for over a year now. He told them that he was gay and he and Connor were in love and going to prom together.

In all honesty, Oliver had been prepared for yelling and rage. His brother had reassured him many times over in their conversations prior that neither of their parents would be very surprised. “You and Walsh aren’t as smooth as you think you are,” he’d teased. Even still, Oliver had prepared for _something_ to happen. The cold slap of his parents’ apathy was still a shock.

Oliver opened his mouth to say more, say something, but closed it again. He didn’t want to fight, or not fight as it were. Not today. He’d been dreaming of prom and taking Connor to it for far longer than he cared to admit; he didn’t want a pointless argument with his mother to wreck it. So, with one look over his shoulder at his mother’s bowed head, Oliver left, knowing full well that neither of his parents were going to show up tonight.

But, when he listens to the chime of the Walshes clock as four o’clock rolls around and there’s no blue mini-van in the drive, it still stings.

Oliver swallows hard once. And then again. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose and closes his eyes to hold back the sudden tears. He knows he needs to head out back. They’re supposed to take pictures on the deck and in front of Mrs. Walsh’s garden and he’s probably late but he can’t make himself move. Oliver doesn’t want to go out there alone to watch Ms. Gibbins fuss at the last minute over Wes’ crooked tie and look on while Mrs. Castillo helps Laurel with a stray flyaway that won’t stay curled. Oliver doesn’t want to stand next to Connor and smile for pictures that will never be displayed in his house. Oliver doesn’t want to go at all.

“Oh, good, you’re in here,” Mr. Walsh’s voice cuts through Oliver’s reverie. “I found him,” he calls back behind him before he takes a step into the room. “So, your folks running late? That’s okay. No rush. Gemma keeps saying we’re going to ‘lose the light’ but that girl doesn’t know what she’s talking about. One photography class and she’s Ansel Adams.” Mr. Walsh smiles at his own joke and claps Oliver lightly on the back but the kid doesn’t even flinch. Now, he and Oliver had never really talked but in the year and change Oliver’d been Connor’s boyfriend, he’d never seen the kid this stoic. “You okay?”

“They aren’t—they’re not—” Oliver’s voice breaks on unshed tears and he curses himself as he closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to do this in front of Mr. Walsh. He doesn’t want to do this at all.

“Oh, I see,” Mr. Walsh says slowly. He shoves his hands in his pockets and then pulls them back out again. His wife is better at this sort of thing. “Listen—”

Oliver shakes his head and holds up a hand. “No. It’s okay.” He opens his eyes and blows out a breath. “I’m okay.” He tugs the line of his coat straight and reaches up to adjust his own tie. He doesn’t need them to get ready. If it comes down to it, he doesn’t need them at all. “We should head out there. Don’t want to lose the light.”

Mr. Walsh gives an exaggerated laugh at Oliver’s teasing and claps him on the back again as they both head back through the house. “Too true, Oliver. Too true.”

+

The picture taking goes just about as well as Oliver imagines it would go with nine sets of parents snapping up pictures and Gemma channeling her inner Annie Leibovitz as she poses everyone. The group shots take forever since they need to rearrange themselves five times over so every parent gets a shot with their children in the center. It takes so long that they really do start to lose the light.

Each couple has broken off to do individual shots when Oliver sees his father walk into the backyard from around the house. With a squeeze of Connor’s hand, Oliver breaks away to greet him.

“Sorry I’m late,” his dad says in way of greeting when they stop a few paces from each other. “I—ah—I forgot where the house was, long time since we carpooled for little league, and—well—it took some talking for your mother to give me the address.”

“Is Mom—?” Oliver doesn’t finish when his dad slowly shakes his head.

“Oliver—” his dad begins.

“It’s fi—” Oliver stops himself before he finishes the thought. It’s not fine but this is not the time or place. “Glad you came, anyway.”

“Wanted to get some pictures, if there’s still time?” He pulls their family’s ancient digital camera out of his pocket and Oliver smiles so absurdly wide it almost hurts.

“Yeah, Dad, there’s still time.”

+

The following week, Oliver’s dad calls him into the living room to show him a new picture for the mantle. “The lady at Wal-Mart helped me pick out the frame,” his father explains but Oliver misses the rest of what he’s saying.

It’s a picture of him and Connor, holding hands and looking stunning in their tuxes, with their parents on either side. Mr. Walsh has and arm over his wife’s shoulder and she has one of hers wrapped around his middle. Oliver’s dad has a hand gently placed on Oliver’s shoulder. They are all smiling wide at Gemma who snapped the picture. To Oliver they look like a family.

“So, anyways,” his dad is saying. “We can go back and exchange the frame if you want but I like it. What do you think?”

Oliver nods. “I like it,” he whispers as he reaches up to place the picture with the other family pictures. “It’s perfect."

“Well, not quite perfect,” his dad says as he slings an arm over Oliver’s shoulder. The two of them are silent for a beat, as each lingers over the space in the picture where Oliver’s mother should be

“But, I figure it’s a start at least.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com)


End file.
